The Borg With Butterfly Wings
by scifiromance
Summary: Seven and Chakotay each try to find their way back to each other when Chakotay is stranded in the Beta Quadrant on his maiden mission as a Starfleet Captain. C/7. Plot used with the permission of original author, xXBrightsideBumblebeeXx.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: Anyone who recognises this story is right. It was originally written by xXBrightsideBumbleBeeXx but due to constraints on her time I'm taking this story over with her permission so that she can focus on her other multi-chapter fic C/7 fic "Shreds and Shards" and one-shots. This chapter is very much her work, except for some minor changes by me. She'll beta the chapters, so hopefully I'll be able to keep to the spirit of the original story. :) Please review and tell me what you think. :)**

Her crystalline blue eyes shone brightly as she stepped into the room, though not from happiness or joy; her unshed tears had given them an unnatural, glassy gleam. Only when she was safe in the privacy of her tiny home would she allow the remains of her carefully sculpted mask to slip slowly away, as if it had never been there at all; finally allowing the grief trapped behind it to reveal itself in her every expression. She sat down and surveyed her living quarters intently, as if it was the first time she'd ever been inside them. The items that were so well engrained into her memory held no meaning anymore; and she had no idea why.

She'd always tried to be independent, which is why when she first fell for him, she'd insisted that they not move forward too quickly; it was a rule she'd broken herself in abundance, but it'd still been there. He made her forget that she was different, if only for even a few seconds at a time. After they'd reached Earth they'd set up home together, separate rooms of course. It made things easier, and not so. With the step came many progressions, and yet many setbacks. Whilst before, on Voyager, they'd been able to stay out of the other's hair during one of their rare, but intense, arguments; here one or the other would be forced to leave the house they shared for something even minutely resembling privacy.

Earth had been something of a culture shock for her. All the books she'd read, research she'd conducted, and simulations she'd run could never have prepared her for how utterly different Earth would be for someone like her. After all, even if she'd had the luck of retaining any memories from her six-year-old self, they'd no doubt have been the fragmented shards of what a child usually remembers. He'd been there, through thick and thin, helping her no matter what the cost was, no matter how much he'd be endangering himself in the process. None of her frequent doubt-ridden tantrums had shaken his confidence in her, or lessened the calm with which he consoled her when they ended. The old friends who'd shown incredulity or frustration at his relationship with her had been unceremoniously cut off without a flicker of regret from him. "If they can't accept _us_, then they won't have _me_." He'd said simply, when she'd asked for an explanation. No, not even when he'd been put under house arrest for 'assaulting' somebody who'd dared to criticise the relationship, had he blamed her for the black mark on his record and the fractured arm he kept for months.

He was strong like that, always had been, and she'd never doubted her love for him; though she was always a little hesitant to show it. Privately, she'd have given anything to proclaim to the entire universe that she, of all people, was now madly in love with someone who'd hated her at first glance.

And to tell them that he felt the same.

They'd muddled along together, each helping each other to 'adapt'. The Voyager crew had, for the most part, gone their separate ways and only met up at the reunions. It was sad, in a way, to see her makeshift family, her 'collective', drift apart so; but with change came promise, and as the weeks slipped away, she'd gradually grown accustomed to life on Earth. Their relationship had followed that same pattern, they'd stayed in their first, pocket-sized, home, although the second bedroom had along since been transformed into a shared study, and even their wedding, conducted four years in, had been understated and private. They'd taken a cue from Tom and B'Elanna and eloped during one of Chakotay's more isolated Central American anthropological digs. Standing alone in a rainforest clearing with just the local Justice of the Peace and the birds as witnesses, they'd cemented their relationship as they had everything else, together with no interference. Of course Tom Paris had insisted throwing them a small reception on their return, a necessity since Miral was already put out at not having been a flower-girl and wouldn't be denied at least a party dress. They could have gone further, had children and perhaps pursued more high-profile, illustrious careers, but they'd been content to watch those friends they had kept in contact with blossom and to feel their own love grow deeper roots with each passing day. Inevitably, each of them had their "what if" moments, but how could they really ask for more, when they'd already surpassed their wildest dreams just by finding each other? Admittedly, most days, she dreamed of setting out amongst the stars again, to explore the vast emptiness of what used to be her home. One look in her husband's eyes, however, and she berated herself for thinking that home could ever be anyplace that set her apart from the man she adored.

It had all been so perfect.

* * *

But, as had always seemed to be the case, their happiness would not last for long. Just five short years after returning to Earth, Chakotay had been called upon to guide the_ U.S.S. Skyline_ on her maiden voyage through the Beta Quadrant. He'd tried to refuse the mission at first, with jokes such as '_Do you have any idea how bad I am with big missions?_', _'I'm at a pivotal point in my research'_, (said with a sly wink at the people he worked with; there was no such project), and _'The missus needs me here, guys'_. After his light, subtle way of trying to avoid the mission failed, he tried to convince Seven that it maybe wasn't such a bad idea to go; she could explore the stars once again, and he could fulfil his dreams of being a respected, noble Captain, one who led by means of reward, rather then punishment. As the months nearing up to the launch passed, he became less angry with Starfleet for their sudden change of heart regarding his status; he felt as though he owed them for forgiving his Maquis past. He began to feel more accepting of the idea, despite his anger at Starfleet not extending the same courtesy to the idea of Seven joining him. Of course, as his wife she had a legal right to go with him, but as Seven once commented, "What is _legal_ and what is _feasible_ can be very different." Starfleet had clearly spelled out the rule that a Captain's spouse cannot have a post on said Captain's vessel, no exceptions. Fears of favouritism outdid love in this instance. Now, both Seven and Chakotay were well aware of the fact that Seven wouldn't be able to cope with a year of enforced leisure, but Chakotay still argued its benefits at first. Part of Seven, the part afraid of a year of separation, was inclined to agree, but she knew that bringing his ex-Borg bride along on his first commission as a Captain would not endear him to his crew by any means. Just the fear of the guilt that would stem from being the reason for Chakotay's failure made her resist stepping foot onto the _Skyline_. There was also the issue of Starfleet's pressure on her to remain working, as an unranked consultant, on the Borg enhanced systems that they insisted needed to be developed and launched under her supervision. Eventually, after months of soul-searching, punctuated by a few of their famously passionate arguments, they came to the joint conclusion that twelve months wasn't long to be apart in body when they were going to spend the rest of their lives together.

And so he'd gone, leaving a gaping hole in her life that would take a long time, if not forever to fill. Talking just wasn't the same when they were on a time limit and somebody was monitoring them. The banter was strained, forced even. They both wanted to say so much more than what words could ever narrate, and it was impossible to do that with a universe separating them. Once, about three months into the mission, Chakotay had managed to get rid of the person who monitored the calls back home; being the Captain _did _have its advantages after all, and he'd set up a red chequered picnic blanket. Back home, Seven had done the same thing. Together, on that night, despite being galaxies apart, they managed to eradicate the stars between them and come together like they had done just over five years before, a few peaceful days before Voyager's course, and the course of their lives, had been changed forever. The one and only thing that could have made it perfect would to have been able to hold each other again.

About a month later, the calls and messages stopped. No word of warning; it was a bolt from the blue. There was a big uproar about it in the newspapers the next day: _'U.S.S Skyline Bites The Dust'. _Crude, and unfeeling, but it got the job done. Panic was rife throughout the friends and relatives of those travelling aboard the ship. Weeks and weeks of research had been conducted before an official report stating that the _Skyline _had turned off its tracking devices, therefore cutting itself off from Earth too, was released. The long wait had not soothed the concerns of those whose families had been torn apart from the ship's departure. Rescue ships were deployed into all known parameters, but they all drew blanks. Big, empty blanks. Most people, after that, lost their respect for Starfleet; as they'd let 'Voyager happen again'.

And thus the downward spiral began.

* * *

A low beeping noise jolted Seven from her train of thought, with a quick glance at the clock she realized that she'd been curled up for over three hours. Her aching joints groaned as she rose from her foetal position and made her way into the tiny, red, chrome kitchen. Ever since he'd left, Seven had found the room to be cold; it was no longer warmed by his laughter. This feeling did not soften any as she bit into the warm strawberry tart, noting that its sharp stinging tang provided a slight distraction from her thoughts of loneliness and anger. The anger was not solely aimed at Starfleet; he could've done more to get out of leaving their home, not to mention leaving _her. _Though she was trying, as per Starfleet's recommendation, to go on with normal life, she couldn't help but speculate over how many times her life had been altered during the past ten years. Waking up from her maturation chamber, being set to work, meeting the Voyager crew, _becoming _one of the Voyager crew... She'd been through so much, and it was only when she took the time to evaluate her life that she realised how fragmented her existence had become.

It was in that moment that she realized that something _had _to be done...

He _would _come back to her, and they _would _be a family.

**A/n: PLEASE REVIEW! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: Thanks so much for the support for this fic so far everyone! :) Once again, this chapter is xXBrightsideBumblebeeXx's work with a couple of changes by me. I'm away on holiday from Monday until Friday, so I'll start publishing my own chapters when I come back.**

His shoulders stiffened sullenly as he awoke to find the other side of the bed icy, again. Shaking his head, he tried to remember the dream he'd had during the night. Doubtlessly, it had been one starring him, her, and the prospect of a long and happy future; a future he was now positively sure would never become reality. Curling up beside one another on a cold winter evening, exchanging sly glances during another of Admiral Janeway's long-winded speeches at a Voyager reunion, being together on their silver, ruby and golden wedding anniversaries or attending their youngest child's high school graduation, he'd dreamed up every one of those blissful scenarios in the past few weeks. Children, he thought wistfully, would've been nice. They'd been discouraged by every Starfleet medical professional, even by their old friend the Doctor who would've tried to give Seven the world if she'd asked him, and although they'd disregarded Starfleet's advice as a matter of course for years, he could admit now that he'd let the doomsayers affect him. He'd been selfish, hadn't been willing to risk Seven's life or put her through the trauma of miscarriage or stillbirth even though he knew she'd have gladly risked all that in a heartbeat to give them a child. He couldn't help but regret his protectiveness now, she would've made a wonderful mother…Be that as it may, with their situation as it was now perhaps they'd been wise; unconscious fears of being ripped apart one day, of a future disappearing before their eyes, had borne tragic fruits. He could only hope, with all of his heart, that Seven had stuck to their happy philosophy of 'living in the moment' better than he had. Old friends from Voyager had been few and far between, and he also missed the Paris family. It wasn't solely because he'd known B'Elanna for over a decade; he was the godfather to their second child, Sienna, and the little girl meant as much to him as any of his own biological children ever could. Seven was the godmother, naturally, and he couldn't help but wonder how she'd broken the news to the toddler that her 'Uncle Koter' wouldn't be around for a long while, if ever. Seven was so good with the child, and everyone could see how far she'd come since existing as a confused mechanical hybrid.

He mustered up the motivation to arise from his duvet-covered bed; shrinking back slightly as the cool air bit into his warmth. It wasn't even that he was too cold to function; at least in the warmth of his duvet, he could pull a spare pillow to his chest and pretend that she was there with him. It was a poor substitute for her living, breathing form, he knew, but it was better than walking around the ship, expecting to see her in different rooms, and then skulking back to his quarters in a mood so bitter that even the sight of the intrinsically arranged stars outside of his window could not cheer him up. He missed her, and there were no two ways about it; he missed the way her nose would crinkle when she laughed, the way her cerulean blue eyes would sparkle when she smiled, and the fact that her hair was always as soft as a baby's. He missed the way she would curl into the crook of his arm like a frightened kitten in those rare moments in which she'd 'admit' weakness and seek comfort. He wished he could speak to her one more time; if he could, he'd tell her how much he positively adored her, and how proud he was to have known her.

His sonic shower was turned on to the maximum temperature, and he recoiled slightly as alternating jets of freezing and molten air blasted his tender skin. Eyes clenched shut, his hands clutched at the chrome-effect rail, barely managing to steady his shaking legs. It wasn't that she was all he ever thought about; he had the regular trials and tribulations that every Captain before him had doubtlessly faced to worry about. There was, as he was slowly discovering, an ever-growing possibility of a mutiny. He was almost amused by the thought, remembering how he'd convinced the Voyager crew away from their ideas of a mutiny several times. He'd always been the one to smooth over conflicts with the Captain and her crew back then, reining her back in when she became too detached from her crew; he'd never have thought he'd be in need of some of his own advice. In any case, his crew of 'honour student' Starfleet graduates didn't take too kindly to the fact they were being lead by a 'traitor'. He simply didn't have the time to constantly fawn over his lost love, but when he was all alone, in the emptiness of his Ready-Room, he couldn't help himself. He laughed bitterly as he remembered the ancient Earth saying 'you never truly appreciate what you have until it's gone'. Back only, what was it, six months ago, days before he'd left, he'd hated the condescending tone in her voice when they'd argued; he'd give anything, now, to be on the other side of that infamous temper of hers. Oh, they'd been compared to cats and dogs when they'd fought. They'd always reasoned that if something was worth doing, it was worth doing wholeheartedly, and they'd applied that logic to everything, including the 'bad' stuff. They'd come away from arguments absolutely _hating _each other, only to fall even more deeply in love within the next few hours. He wanted to scream at her, and hear her shrieking back, he wanted to feel the heat, the passion, and the true sense of security he'd always felt whilst catching the flecks of hurt in her eyes, and being blinded by his own.

He was struck by just how alone he truly felt. He dressed in his sleek Captain's uniform, his trembling hands missing a few of the buttonholes. He was confused, and in that second, he hated her. Not a lot, just a little; a tiny, microscopic sliver of him_ despised _her. She'd exposed him to all this raw, messy emotion, and it unnerved him. He could never un-feel his feelings; he would never move on. As a result, he'd created this spider's web of mistrust and unrest between himself and the people he was depending on to get them all home safely. Many of them already had personal issues against him: Some had gone through Starfleet Academy with him to pursue the same dream of being a Captain; they'd failed, despite being faithful, and he, despite his Maquis past, had succeeded. Others merely jumped on the bandwagon of character assassination; choosing to hate him on the, shaky, grounds of gossip, and idle speculation. They all knew his story, or parts of it; he had a wife hidden away somewhere back home, apparently it was that weird Borg 'pet' he'd brought back home with him from the Delta quadrant. So what? They'd all left people behind too, why should he, just because he was 'the man in charge', get any special consideration? He knew, and could quite readily admit to himself, that he wasn't being the best Captain he could be. He knew he was messing up his first, and probably _only, _chance of a peaceful leadership; but what was he supposed to say to a crew who despised him? There were a few exceptions to the rule he'd unwittingly created; his pilot, Christina, and her family were always inviting him to meals, social events, and there was the young trainee Engineer who reminded him of B'Elanna in her early days in the Maquis. Then, there was Sickbay's youngest nurse, Ensign Sophie Robinson. She'd certainly made a memorable first impression on him, being the only member of his crew to question, even _insult_, him to his face. He'd won her around; and he'd appreciated having the challenge. It was simply more rewarding to have the chance to explain himself to a person, _one _person, who would listen and take his thoughts into consideration, than a whole crew who, at best, tolerated him. Those six people made his life aboard the _Skyline _bearable, and the children aboard the ship didn't hold the same prejudices against him that their embittered parents seemed to.

Passing the families in the Mess Hall, he was stopped by Matilda, the four-year-old daughter of his Chief Engineer. She handed him a drawing of a spaceship; coloured with crayon, it was hardly an original Picasso, but it touched his heart nonetheless.

"Thank you, Tilly. It's a very pretty drawing."

"You're welcome. Mama says that you need a fwiend. I'll be your fwiend, mister Captain."

Looking down into the sparkling, innocent eyes of the child in front of him, Chakotay smiled; "I'd like that very much."

Bidding farewell to the bright-eyed youngster, Chakotay left the Mess Hall, pausing every now and then to see if things were all well with Navigations, Engineering, and the others. He regarded the crew as they set about their tasks, how the maiden voyage of the _Skyline _had affected each of them on a personal level. He knew that the vast majority of them had loving families back on Earth and the other home planets, and that others had complex networks of friends and allies they'd assumed they would be returning to. He was aware that his own life had been damaged, perhaps beyond repair, but he'd never taken the time to worry the same for his crew. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes as he thought of, and not for the first time, how many lives Starfleet had ruined with their 'morals', 'codes', and 'ethics'. He thought of the young graduates, who'd taken this trip to become more acquainted with space travel, who'd seen the whole affair as something brilliant to put on their respective CVs; his mind conjured up pictures of the poor children who might be forced to spend years, maybe even _decades, _of their lives aboard this metal tin can they called a spaceship. The tears turned into black spots in his vision as he walked around, disorientated by the flickering lights on a switchboard opposite him. He saw the doors leading to Sickbay and stumbled slowly towards them. People passed him by, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was clutching at railings that weren't even on the walls. He mumbled something about needing help, but it came out as a mess of sounds, indistinct and unremarkable; he could have been clearing his throat. "Seven!" he screamed, silently, falling to the cold, grey floor.

* * *

Ensign Sophie Robinson grunted with effort as she lowered Chakotay into the reclining chair in his Ready Room. Someone _could _have offered to help her; the recent outbreak of a rare type of flu had left Sickbay short-staffed. Besides, she'd come to find that the crew of the _Skyline _weren't the most magnanimous when it came to their former Maquis captain. She was aware that she hadn't exactly been a shining example of acceptance and open-mindedness when she had first met him; in fact, she still blushed in shame whenever she remembered the harsh words she'd said to him during their first meeting. It had been nearly three days into the _Skyline's _journey, and she'd just been on the wrong end of a rather depressing message from her father. She'd had an awful day anyway; the other doctors weren't taking her as seriously as her qualifications demanded; simply for the fact that she was young, and a woman. As such, it hardly lightened her mood when she was informed that the Captain had requested to meet her; she'd heard enough rumours to pre-judge him: 'Maquis Traitor' and 'Borg Lover' were some of the nicer nicknames she'd been made aware of. In the end, she'd been so overwrought that she'd snapped in answer to every question he'd asked, venting wildly, uninhibitedly about her lack of trust; after all, how could the crew trust an outlaw? She'd ranted on and on to him about how sick she was of being disregarded, and seen as unimportant, when a traitor was given the most prestigious job of all. Vehemently, she damned his choice of love, exclaiming that a person would have to be 'sick in the head to even consider taking a _murderous Borg drone _for a _wife_'. To his credit, he'd listened to her as she became more and more agitated, not interrupting once, even when she paused to take quick, gulping breaths. When she was done he quietly, calmly, asked her why she felt the way she did; after some gentle persuasion, she finally confessed all. When she was a small child, eleven-years-old, her mother had been assimilated by the Borg. Her father had raised her single-handedly after that, and Sophie was afraid that he'd be lonely now that she had a life, and career of her own. To her surprise, Chakotay had been kind, offering to adjust the communications rota so that she could speak to her father more often. They'd, over time, built up a level of understanding, and after a month, he'd convinced her that it might be a good idea to speak to Seven herself. It had been an enlightening experience, to say the least, and Sophie found some solace in talking to someone who'd not only lost _both _parents to the Borg, but had also been taken herself. Though Sophie had been apprehensive about meeting her, she had to admit that the robotic, unsmiling photographs taken of the former drone had not done her even _one _iota of justice at all. After their talk, Sophie fully appreciated just how much the unlikely couple had gone through, and, seeing clearly the devotion and trust they had in one another, she couldn't help but send spiteful glares to anybody she overheard criticising the pair.

Chakotay breathed out hesitantly. "Seven..." he mumbled, wincing as the act of speaking grazed his sore throat. Sophie winced in sympathy before scanning him once again with her ever-present tricorder. She knew that his problems were more to do with psychological hurt than physical pain; she'd lived with the grieving presence of her father for long enough to see the signs. Although the Captain was, in many ways, a stronger person, in unguarded moments it was clear that he was crumbling, both emotionally and spiritually. He was a lost and lonely soul; reminiscent of a wheel that had lost its axel, doomed to an eternity of struggling without the careful, guiding hand of his beloved.

"Captain? Captain, do you hear me?"

Stirred by her trilling, hopeful voice, Chakotay forced his eyed open to look at the face of the young nurse as she applied some more muslin covered ice to the back of his aching head. She was half Ktarian, which, perhaps inevitably, brought back memories of a young Naomi Wildman. Now that he thought about it, Sophie's resemblance to the little, well, not so little anymore, girl he'd watched grow up was probably part of the reason he'd forgiven her outburst at their first meeting. But then, he'd always preferred an honest, forthright nature in comparison to the sly, back-stabbing ambience of the _Skyline _crew. "Yes, Sophie, I hear you. What am I doing in my office?"

"Well, Ensign Braydon found you in a heap on the floor outside of Sickbay. There's a nasty case of Ryhedron flu spreading around the lower decks, so we thought it best to treat you in your Ready-Room until it goes away."

"Ryhedron flu? When did the outbreak begin?"

"About two weeks ago, I'm surprised you haven't heard about it yet; it was the reason Lieutenant Castle didn't report for duty last week."

"Christ, I had no idea..."

"There's no need to worry," she said, smiling reassuringly, "The whole ship's been really busy this past month; nobody blames you for not knowing everything. But, anyway, we need to discuss your problems."

Chakotay bristled, "Look, I appreciate the concern, but I really don't need to talk-"

"No, Captain," she interrupting, stifling a giggle at the man's impatience, "I mean your medical problems. I'm a doctor, not a therapist. If you'd like some psychological help, I could always create a holoprogram for you."

"That's okay," Chakotay replied sheepishly, "I'm fine. What do you mean, my 'medical problems'? I just felt a little bit faint. Is there something serious wrong?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it 'serious', as such. You've had a minor stroke, which we've now fully treated. Your left side will be a little weaker than your right for a few weeks, but that's to be expected. Luckily, before we left Earth, the ship was given a whole inventory full of new vaccines and cures; you weren't responding to the usual treatments, so we've put you on a course of anti-element hyposprays. Are you with me so far?" she looked at him expectantly. At his nod, she continued, "Good, well, Doctor Harris would like a one-on-one with you in the next few days; but I can say that he'll probably tell you that it's not a good idea to be doing anything too strenuous. Ideally, I'd put you on bed rest for at least a week; but I can see that I'm going to have a hard time convincing you that it would be for the best…"

"I cannot allow myself to become any more disjointed from the crew! I didn't even know that there was a serious illness going around until I was ill myself! What kind of self-respecting leader would ever do that?"

"We would all much rather have you healthy and slightly out-of-the-loop, than ever-attentive and nearly dead." Sophie stated, bluntly. "Like I said before, Captain, nobody blames you for not being around these past few weeks. There are a few people who're feeling a little nervous, but everybody's strengths are being tested lately."

"Maybe you _should _be a therapist." Chakotay joked, sharing a weary smile with the person who'd managed to reassure him that he wasn't doing _too_ badly with his job.

* * *

Despite being told by the entire medical team that he would be better off under bed rest for, at least, two weeks, Chakotay was up and alert throughout. He sat in his Ready-Room, in his crisp, clean uniform, ready to attend any emergency he might be called to. People came in and out, updating him on various stories about what was going on with the crew. He was relieved to hear that the flu epidemic was retreating, and that ninety-five percent of those who'd been infected were now completely cured. He went down to the Mess Hall more often, eating and relaxing with the people he'd previously been dubious about even saying a simple 'hello' to. It was all going so well, and he could almost see himself accepting the possibility of the spending rest of his life aboard the _Skyline. _But then, he'd resigned himself to the rest of his life aboard _Voyager _as well, and the impossible had happened; was it too much to ask for more than one miracle per lifetime...?

"I just don't feel like he's, you know, all 'there' sometimes," Lieutenant Rebecca Carpenter said; Commander Bradford Goldley, the ship's First Officer had called a private meeting to ask all the high-ranking crewmen about their personal feelings on the Captain's mental health. "One minute we'll be talking about the ship's state, and the next he'll be away with the fairies!"

"I know what you mean," Lieutenant Grayson Clarkes replied, "Just the other day we were going over plotting a new course to follow, and he must've lost concentration at least 3 times."

"Well, Sophie, what about you?" Commander Goldley asked, "You've been the one overseeing the Captain's health these past few weeks. What do you have to say about it all?"

"Well, frankly, Commander, I don't see that there's any cause for concern at all! You're all so quick to condemn him as insane, but he's gone through a lot lately."

"We have _all _had our lives overturned by this damned mission, Ensign. What kind of Captain is so self-involved that he can't be bothered with his crew?"

"That is completely unfair!" Sophie snapped, determined to stick up for the man who'd restored her faith in second chances, "He _knows_ that he could have done a hell of a lot better in the beginning. And he's making the effort now, isn't he? It's not fair that you just…"

"Sophie, it's okay," Chakotay said, walking calmly into the room, "If I'd known that my actions were being put under this level of scrutiny, I'd have arranged the meeting myself." He looked pointedly at his First Officer. "It was very disrespectful of you to go behind my back like this and get everybody together to discuss me. What is this, a playground?"

"Captain, we were just trying to-"

"Trying to what, Lieutenant Carpenter, undermine me in every single way possible? Trying to get rid of me?" The people involved in the meeting winced at the honesty of his words; they hadn't been trying to 'get rid' of him, as such, they were merely trying to ascertain whether or not a new Captain might be a good idea. Their lack of action spoke more than any words ever could have, and Chakotay sighed wearily; "If you think you can do a better job of commanding this ship, Goldley, go ahead. I'm done with playing these petty games with you."

* * *

"Is it true that you're leaving?" Lieutenant Christina White asked Chakotay. The two were sitting at a table in the Mess Hall, waiting for Christina's husband and their two children, Leah and Lewis, to join them.

"I think it's for the best, don't you?" he replied, "I lost just about all of my credibility when I offered Goldley the chance to lead the crew. I can't exactly take it back. Besides, if I stood down as Captain and stayed aboard the ship, it'd be pure hell for everybody involved."

"Maybe so, but what are you going to do? Take a little shuttle and hover around space for a couple of years?"

"Well, I'm hoping it _won't_ be a couple of years." He said, "Ideally, once I leave, the crew will start making some progress. It's taken me a little while to realise it, but I'm holding you all back. I'm going to try to get back to Earth myself, but I doubt I'll do it before the crew does, if at all. I'd just really hate it if the crew thought I was abandoning them. I don't want people to think that I'm leaving solely to find my own way back and forget about the _Skyline."_

"Well, don't you worry," Christina replied, smiling, "If I hear even the slightest little _whisper_ that somebody thinks you'd do that to us, I'll set them straight."

"I appreciate it. Look, when I go, you and Jason can have the rest of my Replicator rations and Holodeck time. Life's pretty boring here, so you may as well have a little fun as a family before you get back to Earth. I don't want you to go home and have no exciting stories to tell."

"Thank you. I'm sure the kids will appreciate a few extra treats. You've made up your mind then?"

"Yes. I'm going to leave in two weeks time. I promised Sophie I'd stay until after her birthday. I want to give her the present I got for her in person; she did take good care of me, after all."

"You like her, don't you?"

"She has a great deal of potential. Besides, anybody willing to tell Goldley that he's an idiot deserves a promotion. I'm just sorry I won't be around to see you all back home. "

"Don't be so morbid. I'll look you up when we get home, we should go to dinner. You, me, the 'other halves' and the kids. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan."

**A/n: PLEASE REVIEW! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: Hi everyone, here is the first chapter of this story that's written entirely by me, I hope you like it. :) Thank you so much to xXBrightsideBumblebeeXx for beta reading this chapter and generally assuring me that I'm not destroying her story.**

"Warning, plasma overload in the starboard impulse nacelle." The Computer reported stridently from the console under which Seven knelt, several alarms blaring in chorus to the warning.

Seven hastily scrambled off the floor, narrowly avoiding crashing her head against the base of the console as she shoved the myriad of PADDS which were fanned out over the floor for study and reference out of her path. She coolly dialled commands into the console which abruptly ended the programme of modifications that had caused the danger and hence plunging the small vessel back into the silence she had grown accustomed to, though when exactly she wasn't sure. With a sigh of disappointment she tore up the scrap of paper on which she'd frantically scribbled the idea for the modifications that morning in a fit of inspired sleeplessness; Chakotay would have raised eyebrows at her deigning to use such an antiquated tool as paper, but was useful for the rapid disposal of some of her more radical, and often not strictly legal, plans. She stood up to her full height, rubbing the red, angry, striation marks the floor had left on her knees distractedly as she looked around the vessel with a feeling of mild satisfaction. It was as yet unnamed, similar in size to the Delta Flyer, and like all the ships being built, at Starfleet's request, to her specifications in this spiritless hangar in a damp corner of Vancouver, had been fitted out with several, relatively minor Borg enhancements along with those originally introduced to Voyager by the alternate timeline's Admiral Janeway. Unlike the other ships in the project however, which were all designed to be advanced defence ships for space stations, or the playthings of away team pilots when on interstellar missions, this vessel had a specific, treasured, purpose for her and she was fitting it out accordingly. Every piece of assimilated technology which could be incorporated into Federation technology, every non-regulation trick the Captain had never let her pull on Voyager, had been seamlessly pulled together on this ship without restraint or caution from her. In other circumstances, she would have been more careful, acted more _slowly_, in combining all this technology at once, but now speed was of the essence. Every day wasted here was one which could be better spent in her search…

"Is everything alright Seven?" The voice of one of her assistants, Ensign Robbins, shook her from her wandering thoughts as he stood with his head poked through the ship's small door, peering at her worriedly, "We heard the alarms…"

Seven gave him a wan smile of reassurance, she liked Robbins, he was an efficient worker with the boundless enthusiasm of a puppy when it came to ship design. In that respect he frequently reminded her in moments of nostalgia of Harry Kim. "I averted the danger Ensign, but the starboard impulse nacelle has now been knocked out of alignment. It will need to be recalibrated before I attempt other modifications to the impulse engines."

Robbins smiled in relief, though he seemed startled for a moment that she could shrug off such a close call so easily. "We'll get right to it ma'am." He agreed obligingly.

"Thank you Ensign." Seven replied politely as he left, managing to hide her wince at being referred to as "ma'am", it brought up memories of unpleasant confrontations with her former Captain. Really, her relations with her subordinates here were much more cordial than she'd expected initially. Respect for her work ethic and unique ideas had come before liking of course, but after Chakotay had advised her to remember to listen and they'd gotten over the fact their fear of her Borg past, the small group had melded together well enough. Since the _Skyline's _disappearance however, most had given her a wide berth, she'd heard plenty of whispers behind her back, her workmates discussing what could be done to help her "recover". The thought had made her laugh, and even cry, bitterly; there would be no "recovery" for her if the situation stayed as it was. The good thing about this blind, misdirected sympathy was that they seemed to consider this ship her pet project and didn't pry too deeply into what she was doing with it. They considered it a distraction from grief and she wasn't about to correct them. She caught her reflection in the shiny new console her fingers were flying across, to be fair to their assumptions about her state of mind, she did look as if she'd been ravaged by illness, only the glint of determination in her eyes hinted at some sort of convalescence. Her hair, once allowed to flow down her back, as was Chakotay's preference, as long as flyaway strands were held back from her eyes, had been wrenched back into the strict bun of old. Its luxuriant golden colour, once so eye-catching, had dulled to an insipid shade of buttermilk; the soft waves her love had habitually run his hand through were now dry and brittle. It wasn't that she consciously neglected her appearance, she strove to look as professional as ever, and she put on more make-up than before in an effort to hide the purple stains of exhaustion under her eyes and the tear tracks left over from when she _did _sleep or regenerate. Anyone who'd known her before however, perhaps inevitably, saw through the deception at once.

The bleep of the comm. system next to her made Seven jerk her head up in surprise and even as the thought passed through her mind to ignore it, it rang again. She accepted the call with an irritable press of a button, unable to stop a pained wince crossing her features when the caller's face popped up on screen. "Before you asked who gave me this number so you can fire them, everyone is just worried about you Seven." The Doctor said knowingly, arms crossed defensively over his holographic chest.

"They would have less reason to be worried if they let me continue with my work uninterrupted." Seven countered in cold exasperation, frowning at him. "Is there a particular reason for this call Doctor?" She bit back a sigh, anticipating another of his attempts to "help" her. He'd signed her up for choir meetings and cookery classes, invited her to lectures or classical concerts, all to no avail. In fact, he'd probably tried to tempt her with every interest she'd ever expressed within his hearing since the _Skyline _had disappeared.

"Counsellor Troi just disembarked from the _Enterprise_ this morning. Starfleet Medical thinks it would be a good idea to reinstate your prescribed sessions with her." He sighed sympathetically, "I did try to encourage them to understand your circumstances a little more, but honestly I think it would be a good idea to talk to someone."

The pleading expression in her old friend's eyes and his kindly tone caused Seven to waver. Of course she didn't want to talk, but she also didn't want to draw unwanted attention from Starfleet. She'd been "encouraged" to have counselling from the moment _Voyager_ had landed on Earth's soil and had eventually submitted to being assigned to Counsellor Troi after Lieutenant Barclay, one of the very few officers whose word she trusted on face value, had recommended her integrity. Chakotay had also been a client at one time, his Maquis sympathies apparently needed to be checked, but Seven doubted whether Deanna Troi had obeyed that advice. "When is this appointment Doctor?" she finally asked resignedly.

"Today at 1600 hours." The Doctor answered, practically beaming in relief, "Thank you Seven."

"No need Doctor." Seven replied tiredly. At least she knew methods for obstructing Betazoid empathy.

* * *

Counsellor Deanna Troi swallowed unhappily as she re-read the report on the _Skyline_ for the third time. She hadn't listened to the disillusioned outcry about Starfleet "letting _Voyager_ happen again" but studying it in detail made her see the resemblances between the two ships in excruciating focus. How was she supposed to comfort a woman who knew better than anyone else how unlikely it was for a miracle to happen twice, even though by a cruel twist of fate her husband had been stranded again? She couldn't help but dread Seven of Nine's arrival in her office, although she had requested, via _Voyager's _EMH, to see her. She knew the devastation would be extreme, despite Seven's various techniques to block her own Betazoid empathy she knew the couple well enough to know that. They had been interesting clients from the beginning, Seven of Nine was almost Vulcan like in shielding her emotions, where most people's emotions were akin to a scream in her ear, the former Borg's feelings were more like a strained whisper. It had been disconcerting at first to say the least, more so when she'd discovered that Chakotay, amazingly, was also very reserved in his emotions, more difficult to reach than most humans at least. They were one of those very rare couples who could read each other's emotions better than she could read either of them. The one emotion that had radiated from them strongly, especially when together, was the love they shared. Deanna sighed sadly to herself, how was her counsel supposed to soften that loss?

That question had barely passed through her mind when a violent tumult of emotions slammed into her so suddenly that she gave a slight gasp. Resentment tinged anger burned quietly under an almost choking weight of grief, fear and anxiety, all things Deanna had expected to feel, though perhaps not at that volume, as Seven stood in the room with her, but one emotion bemused her, an all consuming determination. The blonde woman's lips twitched as she met her gaze, she looked almost apologetic for what she was bringing down on the empath. "Good Afternoon Counsellor." She murmured quietly in greeting.

The storm of emotion quietened as soon as it had come, and although Deanna selfishly felt glad to be relatively free of it she couldn't help wondering how much effort the other woman was exerting to hold back from her. Perhaps that was where her determination stemmed… "It's good to see you Seven." Experience told her not to ask how she was, it went unsaid. "The EMH has been worried about you." She added as she rose from her desk.

"He always is." Seven replied wryly, not moving to the sofa where Deanna now sat, instead holding her arms behind her back. "He may have more reason to be now than ever before." She admitted, her thoughts shifting unwillingly to the doubts which assuaged her at night.

"Seven…" Deanna began sympathetically, "I know you're aware of this, but I know he'll be trying to get back to you right now."

Seven blinked painfully, swallowing a lump in her throat. "And I'll try to find him…" She whispered thickly, falling silent, her face stiffening, as she realised what she'd said.

Deanna was again struck by the determination she sensed behind these words but tried to dismiss it. She wasn't expecting Seven to let go yet, if ever. Several minutes of small talk passed between them before Seven's slipping mental shield caused Deanna to realise. "Find him? You're serious aren't you?" she asked in shock.

Seven stared at her hard for a second or two, then shrugged simply as confusion and doubt flooded her. "I don't know."

* * *

Tom Paris winced in concern as he saw his wife bent double over the main console in her state of the art Engineering lab, her hands ramming into the buttons in vexed anger. "B'Elanna, honey, what are you doing?"

B'Elanna glanced up at him impatiently, biting her lip when she read his stubborn expression. "I'm going through the _Skyline's_ data transmissions before Starfleet lost contact." She admitted brusquely.

Tom sighed heavily, he'd dreaded that answer. "You've already been through them five times with a fine tooth comb, and Seven has done it more often than that. There's nothing there sweetheart, there was a fault in the transponder, or it was…"

"Destroyed, I know." B'Elanna finished, "But do you know how implausible that is Tom? A ship's transponder is the most indestructible component on Federation ships, they've even survived Borg attacks before, and there's never been a fault recorded that's of this magnitude. A ship doesn't just disappear…"

Tom gripped his wife's shoulder emphatically, "Voyager did." He murmured, "I know you want to know why, but in the end it doesn't help Chakotay get back…"

"I'd rather deal with how it got there if I can't help him any other way, so that it doesn't happen to anyone else!" B'Elanna argued, "Or Seven for that matter, if she does head for the Beta Quadrant…" An insistent beep from her console drew her attention to the _Skyline_ data and she drew a horrified gasp, clamping her hand to her mouth, "Oh my God…"

**A/n: PLEASE REVIEW! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n: A BIG thank you to my beta (and original author of this fic) xXBrightsideBumblebeeXx for being so supportive of this new chapter. :) Also, thanks again to NikkiB1973 for posting her C/7 fic, "Rescuing Chakotay". It's an AU of "Resolutions" involving Seven and a time machine, who wouldn't want to read that? :)**

Kathryn Janeway leaned back in her chair, letting her aching back relax into the supple leather. It was strange how she'd managed to push through the pain barrier so often while on _Voyager_ but now that her life was, relatively, calm by comparison these niggling pains irritated the hell out of her. She supposed it was part and parcel with growing older, but as she glanced down at her reflection on the gleaming glass surface of her bespoke desk she was quite satisfied with what she saw. Alright, she wasn't the youngest female Captain in the fleet any longer, but she was one of the more sprightly, self-aware Admirals Starfleet had right now and that could only be called impressive after what she'd lived through. All and all, her ambition was sated and therefore, since that had been her driving force for many more years than she cared to remember, she could be called a contented woman.

She felt a twinge of thirst at the back of her throat and automatically reached to reactivate the state-of-the-art Italian coffee maker she'd received as an office warming present from Harry Kim, the green Ensign she'd help shape into who he was now, First Officer on board the _Horizon_, sister ship of the ill-fated _Skyline_. She shivered a little at the thought of that particular vessel and was relieved when her coffee maker gave a cheery beep, hurriedly pouring some of her own black gold into the chipped mug that had served her loyally throughout her days on Voyager and she still used for old times sake. A prolonged, desperate drag at the mug soon returned her to emotional equilibrium. Fresh, non-replicated coffee, now there was _true_ contentment. She surprised herself sometimes, settled as she was into this sumptuous corner office in the heart of Starfleet HQ, exactly like the one she'd promised herself on that first tour round the place as a starry eyed Academy cadet, how much she missed her old Ready Room on _Voyager_. Considering how many bad memories she had of that room, she wondered often why she didn't shudder to think of it, but she'd come to believe that she missed being so close to the thumping, racing heart of the action that _Voyager_'_s _Bridge had always been. It wasn't that she didn't have plenty of work here, she was often run off her feet in fact, but being sequestered here, luxurious though it was, left her feel strangely adrift. She was separated by rank and importance from the cut and thrust of Starfleet life that she'd always prided herself on thriving upon…

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by frantic scuffles outside of her door, quite a ruckus was building out there. She could hear her assistant, Lieutenant Alfred Ellis, capable and handsome but not particularly authoritative, arguing fruitlessly with whoever was outside. "Admiral Janeway is _extremely _busy right now. Procedure, and politeness, dictates that you make an appointment…"

A familiar, angrily incredulous, snort echoed through the door along with a strident voice, the sound of which almost made Kathryn drop her mug. "Huh! The Janeway I worked with didn't give a targ's ass about procedure, as for politeness, well…"

If it hadn't been for the viciously irate tone to B'Elanna's voice, Kathryn might've chuckled. The half-Klingon woman didn't mince her words, even in the inner sanctum of Starfleet bureaucracy and decorum. As it was, she swiftly ordered the Computer to open the door to admit her former Chief Engineer.

B'Elanna was through the door before it had fully opened. Her slim shoulders, already shaking with pent up rage, had enough strength in them to hold back Lieutenant Ellis, whose youthful, chiselled face, tanned from a childhood in Puerto Rico, gave his Admiral a sincerely apologetic look. "I'm sorry Admiral, she just barged in, refused to take no for an answer…"

"That's quite normal behaviour for her Lieutenant, don't worry. We're old friends." She replied smoothly, trying to ignore B'Elanna's flinch at the word "friends". She set her mug down and stood up, moving her hands outwards in a welcoming gesture. "Come in B'Elanna." She summoned up a smile, trying to thaw out the younger woman's frosty gaze, "How are Miral and Sienna? I'm sure they're still running the two of you off their feet…"

The casual mention of her children by this woman made something inside B'Elanna Torres-Paris snap. Of course, that same nerve had been pulled to breaking point by what she'd discovered about the _Skyline_ but seeing her here just pushed her tempest of emotions over the edge. There was something surreal about looking at Janeway now, knowing what she knew. The slightly superior upward tilt of the chin that had always been present on _Voyager_ but was now more pronounced, the fact that she had reclaimed that convoluted bun style for her hair, as if trying to resemble her celebrated image in the _Voyager_ archives and take back her youth, but which really looked rather ludicrous when the over long stands of once rich auburn hair were tinged with a hint of dirty grey. Seeing her being served by that Lieutenant, who would be a dead-ringer for a young Chakotay if the latter had been a spineless sycophant. It was all so pathetic that if B'Elanna wasn't painfully aware of the power this woman still held tightly grasped in her hands, if she hadn't _needed_ an explanation more than anything, she would've walked straight back out of this office, chortling with mirthless laughter. All of these thoughts propelled her towards the Admiral's desk like a striking cobra. "Do you want to explain this?" she hissed bitterly, her voice poisonously level even as she slammed a PADD down in front of Janeway so hard that the glass of the desk almost cracked.

Janeway didn't answer before cautiously picking up the PADD, although the sinking feeling in her stomach had already warned her as to what would probably be on it. "B'Elanna…" She began after glancing over it, her tone almost pleading. "You don't understand what you've got here, what you've obviously gone a long way to find…"

B'Elanna breathed a dry chuckle, her voice cracking. "What Admiral? Do you think so little of the Maquis that you assured your friends in high places that we'd never be able to find this?" She heaved in a deep gulp of air and began to pace, "It wasn't even that well hidden once I began to suspect…"

"Suspect what B'Elanna?" Janeway asked softly, "Tell me what you _believe_ you've learned from these files."

"I _know_ that the _Skyline_ switched off their transponders, something which, apparently, Starfleet investigators realised almost immediately and failed to include in its own inquiry." B'Elanna said sharply, not giving Janeway a change to interrupt before continuing, "There wasn't a fault, every fragment of Engineering data I have on that ship tells me that, and I know Chakotay wouldn't sanction it, why would he? Why would anyone?"

Janeway's eyes were sad and resigned as she met B'Elanna's. "We'll probably never know the answers to those questions B'Elanna, which is precisely why that part of the truth was withheld from the families. Can you imagine the pain they'd feel knowing that someone abroad that ship wilfully stranded them? Chakotay's reputation would be ruined…"

B'Elanna bristled even further, holding her clenched fists at her sides to suppress the urge to punch the other woman, as she'd done years to Lieutenant Carey for a lot less. "Don't feed me that bullcrap Kathryn! I found out a lot more about the _Skyline_'s mission from hacking certain confidential channels. It never was solely about charting the Beta Quadrant was it?"

She picked up the PADD again and rolled the screen down to a later page before handing it back to Janeway, who couldn't suppress a tiny gasp as she read, sinking back in her chair as she met B'Elanna's gaze, appearing somewhat defeated. "No B'Elanna, it wasn't. But you know all about that now, right?"

B'Elanna wasn't about to fall for that. "I'd still like to hear about it from you." She answered coldly.

"Alright." The Admiral conceded, "I guess I owe you, and Chakotay, that much." She sighed heavily, "The _Skyline_'s maiden mission was planned months in advance, it really was considered a vitally important task just to begin charting the Beta Quadrant, since we now know more about the Gamma Quadrant from the Bajoran Wormhole and have all the data we collected on _Voyager_. About a month before we started crew selection however, we…discovered that Species 8472 were intensely interested in what we intended for the Beta Quadrant. It was suspected that they'd use their telepathic abilities to shape shift and plant a spy abroad the Skyline…" She gulped hard, "It appears, in hindsight, that we were right. It's almost certain that the Species 8472 plant was the one who stranded the Skyline and cut them off."

B'Elanna stared at her, nauseated. "How could you take that risk? How could you put _Chakotay _of all people through that?"

Janeway gripped the sides of her chair, speaking through gritted teeth. "It was…decided that we'd never find out what Species 8472 were planning unless we monitored what they were doing on the Skyline, so we decided to let the launch go ahead as planned…"

B'Elanna uttered a strangled, broken laugh. "Well, that backfired didn't it? The spy outwitted you and over a hundred people are stranded, maybe even in the hands of Species 8472, the species _you _were so proud of making a treaty with!"

Janeway grimaced but otherwise continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "Chakotay was…singled out for the command because we knew that if Species 8472 created problems, he'd be better able to handle it than anyone else. It was for a similar reason that we so discouraged Seven from going. Species 8472 despises the Borg so much that the spy might've just killed her, or else she, being able to identify them, would've blown the spy's cover too soon."

"_That's_ why you chose him?" B'Elanna spat out, "Because he was experienced yet expendable at the same time? Did you even give him a hint?" A growl left her throat as she answered her own question, "No, of course you didn't, then he never would've gone through with it…"

"He hardly asked any questions…" Janeway murmured thoughtfully, lost in her own musings now, "He was just so overwhelmed to be given Starfleet's forgiveness…"

This time B'Elanna didn't restrain the urge to slap her, getting an odd sort of cathartic pleasure from hearing the crack of skin against skin and seeing the red mark spreading across the ageing cheek. "No, it's _you_, and all those other bureaucrats that play with people's lives for the "greater good", who need forgiveness. The forgiveness of Chakotay, of Seven, whose lives you've torn apart like they meant nothing, and the entire _Voyager _crew." As she saw Janeway's eyes waver painfully, she finished, "Personally, I don't think you'll be getting it."

**A/n: PLEASE REVIEW! Think of a review as a birthday present to me! lol. :)**


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